


I Should Have Known

by jadebrycin2116



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Arguing, Break Up, Chef AU, Chef Stiles, F/M, Food, M/M, Make Up, New York, Rich Derek, Scarves, assitant lydia, doorman boyd, housekeeper isaac, implied sexual relationship, prompt, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:25:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadebrycin2116/pseuds/jadebrycin2116
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a billionaire living in New York City, whose girlfriend of 8 years has just broken up with him. His personal assistant, Lydia Martin, decides to hire a chef who can supply him with decent comfort food and in saunters Stiles Stilinski, a young chef looking for a decent job. Stiles doesn't expect to catch feelings, but it's practically impossible. If only Derek wasn't still wrapped up in Kate. After a failed attempt at winning her back ends with Stiles waking up in his boss' bed, he's potentially ruined everything. There's no way Derek Hale could ever see him like that, but yet, he's still left with these feelings that he can’t just cook away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Picked Up Some Happiness on the Way

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a **[prompt](http://tacoposey.tumblr.com/post/95848326081/where-is-my-young-hungry-sterek-au-where-derek)** that I answered for **[tacoposey](http://tacoposey.tumblr.com/%22%22)** on tumblr. It sounded like fun, so I thought i'd give it a shot. I hope it turned out okay :)

_Wow_.

That’s all that’s going through his head as he stares up at the high rise perched in front of him. Maybe this isn’t the right address, it _can’t_ be...but when he pulls his phone out and pulls up the ad again, there it is: _Looking for a personal chef_. **_145 Hudson st._** _Contact Lydia Martin to schedule an interview._

He’s standing right in front of the most expensive building in Tribeca wearing worn jeans and a plaid shirt about to apply for a job as a personal chef. _Yeah right._ He wasn’t worthy to have a shadow cast on him by people who lived in buildings like this, let alone cook for them. This place made his ridiculously priced Brooklyn studio look like the piece of shit he knew it was. He couldn’t even begin to fathom how much this place cost. He knew he had the skills but right now he felt so far out of his league it wasn’t even funny…but he was here now and there was no harm in trying right?

Stiles tried his best to put on an air of confidence as he walked up to the door. His first obstacle was convincing the doorman that he should even be allowed in a place this nice. The guy is tall, and muscular with chocolate skin and an expression that literally screams ‘ _don’t fuck with me’_. 

“Hey…” Stiles says, leaning in to read the nametag on the man’s suit jacket, “ _Boyd_. Is that like one word—Boyd? Or like Mr. Boyd or Officer Boyd?”

Boyd doesn’t say anything, just knits his eyebrows into an expression that Stiles recognizes all too well as the face somebody makes when they want to punch you in yours.

“Alright, just Boyd, cool. Well I am here to see a _Lydia Martin_ ,” he offers, glancing at the ad on his phone, “About an open position available in this building. She told me to meet her at twelve-thirty. So do I just walk in or are you gonna buzz me up or…”

Boyd raises an eyebrow, looking Stiles up and down, and slowly but _obviously_ judging him. He almost feels violated, and not in a potentially fun way.

He hears and high heels hitting marble floors before he sees anything. The doors behind Boyd burst open. “Jesus Christ, Boyd is he here yet? I said twelve-thirty but obviously punctuality doesn’t mean anything to anyone anymore.” 

Standing in front of them is probably one of the prettiest women Stiles has ever seen; it’s almost a shame women aren’t his type... _almost_. She’s small and young, but her presence alone tells him that she doesn’t let people walk all over her…that and the black stiletto potentially dangerous Louboutins she’s sporting.  

Boyd motions towards him with his eyes and it’s as if the woman has suddenly noticed Stiles for the first time. He was standing _right there_. He can’t be that invisible.

“ _You_ ,” she purses her lips and points at him, “ _You’re_ Stiles Stilinski? You’re the chef? You look like you’ve never seen the inside of a McDonald’s let alone a culinary school.”

He can’t help but be insulted. Before he can even think enough to filter himself, his mouth is already running, “Okay, _harsh_. This is coming from the chick who put an ad on _Craigslist_ in New York City, like really? I hope you weren’t expecting Wolfgang Puck. You’re lucky I’m not a serial killer…although insult me again and by the end of the interview and I might be.”   

Even Boyd looks surprised after that and all Stiles can think is that he probably just screwed himself over. There’s no way he’s about to get this job now. He’ll be lucky if the anti-social door guy doesn’t toss him into the street right onto his broke ass. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

Lydia throws her hand up just as a smirk begins to form on the edge of her cherry red lips, “No, don’t apologize. You’re right. If I was expecting the upper echelon of chefs, I would’ve advertised somewhere else but I didn’t because I’m not.”

He doesn’t follow. “Um, okay?” 

“Just come with me. I’ll explain more on the way up.” She waves him in and he follows into a lobby that’s even more breathtaking than the outside of the building. The floors are a dark marble. There are beautiful leather sectionals in the seating area. Stiles even sees a waterfall built into the opposite wall with exotic fish living in the pool at the bottom. They probably eat better than he does.

He follows Lydia towards the elevator and notices that instead of pressing a button, she inserts a key into a key hole at the bottom. “Alright, as you probably figured I’m sort of in a bind here, hence why I placed an ad on the most questionable website known to man and am actually allowing your rude ass continue on with your interview. I need a personal chef, obviously, but not a ritzy Upper East Side chef. I need someone more _homey_.”

“Homey?”

“Yes, think a little more Paula Dean or Martha Stewart. Someone who’s entire repertoire doesn’t only consist of foie gras and caviar.”

“Oh okay,” he nods, even though he could totally do that. He’s young and maybe he doesn’t have a formal degree, but he’s been cooking for a long time. Back in California he got his fair share of experience between cooking classes and more restaurant jobs than he can count. He’s worked under some brilliant chefs and could hold his own with most, he was sure of it.   

“I need comfort food,” she states. It’s at that moment the elevator doors open right into the most beautiful loft he’s ever seen. He hopes Lydia isn’t still talking, because there’s no way she can expect him to listen after this.

All he can see is the floor to ceiling windows that are literally wrapping around the entire living room, giving him a perfect view of not only the city, but the huge rooftop terrace in front of them. He’s not sure how big the place is, but he knows he could fit his childhood home and his current apartment inside of it at least three times over.  

He’s almost ninety percent sure his mouth is hanging open and he’s drooling as he says, “Your place is beautiful.”

Lydia smiles. She looks radiant as the sunlight from the windows beams against her red hair. Stiles wonders if the immense amount of natural light makes him look better or worse?

“Thank you, but this isn’t my place. This is my clients. If you get the job, that’s who you’ll be cooking for.” Up until now, Stiles thought Lydia _was_ the person he’d be cooking for.  

He absentmindedly follows the sound of her shoes hitting the floor as he looks around the room like a deer caught in headlights. He’s not sure there’s any more room for surprise until he’s standing inside of a massive chef’s kitchen. It’s like something out of a magazine, or his dreams— _gas range, a grill right beside it, huge fridge, pantry, fully stocked liquor cabinet, marble island_. It’s like he’s died and literally been escorted to heaven in a stretch limo.

“Like I was saying, I need someone who can make comfort food. I need a chef who can make a lot of it and who can make it good. I don’t want fancy, uppity, socialite comfort food either. No macaroni and cheese with white truffles and gold flakes or any of that. I need down home, ‘ _just like mama used to make’_ comfort food.”

He’s too busy running his hand down the fridge handle to be as passionate as she is. He knows he can make whatever she asks without really even thinking about it. Right now he wants to admire the beauty that is the kitchen just in case he never gets to see it again.

“Sounds important,” he says offhandedly just so she doesn’t think he’s ignoring her.

“It is. Which is why you’re going to make something right here right now, while my client is at work. I’ve interviewed and tasted sixteen of this city’s best and brightest in the last four days and they were all hopeless. You’re the last person. Impress me and you’ve got yourself a job.”

“You know what they say, save the best for last.”

“Let’s hope so, for your sake.”

**XXX**

The selection in this kitchen is ridiculous. It’s like a mini supermarket right here. Stiles seriously wonders who the hell this person is and what they do, because despite having everything a chef could ever need at their disposal, most of this stuff hardly looks used. The only thing Stiles is sure gets daily love is the Keurig Coffee Maker sitting in the corner.  

He decides to keep it classic. He knows what he likes when he wants to binge on homemade comfort food, so he immediately starts gathering supplies. Lydia is sitting the counter juggling a laptop, at least two cell phones and an iPad as he works. Usually he’d cook to music, but he doesn’t want to be totally rude.

There’s oil heating up on the stove as well as his oven pre-heating. He’s decided to go with some classics: southern style fried chicken, three cheese macaroni, garlic mashed potatoes with gravy, homemade biscuits and sweet corn. Lydia said she wanted comfort food and that’s what he’s going to give her, with his own personal touches of course. He’s thinking a Belgium chocolate pudding with whipped cream for dessert. It all seems a little ambitious but go big or go home right? New York City isn’t cheap and he could use a better job than part time at some diner on 42nd. He isn’t even a cook, they have him waiting tables. It’s such a waste of his talent, but he needed to work badly. He’s been here about two months and his savings is pretty much tapped.

“So…” Stiles starts as he seasons his flour, “If this isn’t your house, then whose is it?” 

Lydia glances up briefly from her computer with a mischievous grin, “That information is only given out on a need to know basis.”

“So you’ll tell me when I get the job?”

“I’ll tell you _if_ you get the job.”

“You said I was your last interview and everyone else sucked. Sounds like I already have the job.”

Lydia laughs to herself, not bothering to remove her eyes from the screen this time. “We’ll see.”

Which isn’t a total ‘no’. Stiles has already decided he likes her. He thinks he’d even like working with her. She’d be a nice change of pace from his co-workers now. Most of them are old and angry; and the ones that aren’t, only last as long as they can keep their substance abuse problems a secret, which isn’t more than a few weeks. _God_ , he hates that piece of crap diner. He just hopes that whoever he _is_ working for, is also as enjoyable. He knows if nothing else, they’ll definitely pay well. He can tell that just by looking at Lydia. 

“Wait,” he says, “You never told me what you do?”

She swiping at something on the iPad, “I’m a personal assistant. I’m the _client’s_ personal assistant. I do everything.”

He finds that hard to believe, “Everything?”

“Yes, everything except work his actual job. Pretty much anything else you can think of, I probably do. I’m in and out of here all day making sure things run like clockwork.”

Stiles thinks of several inappropriate things, none of which he says. “Sounds demanding.”

Lydia shrugs, “It’s not bad. The client isn’t bad.”

There’s that phrase, ‘ _The client_ ’, again. He wishes she would just slip and say who it is, but something tells him she’s too professional for that. Stiles figures the guy must be super important or at least, just super introverted.

“That’s good to know. Since you can’t tell me who he is, can you at least tell me why he suddenly decided he needed a chef?” Lydia looks up with and lowers her eyebrows. She appears a little caught off guard. He tries to clarify, “It’s just…well, a lot of this looks like it hasn’t been used is all.”

She seems surprised, but also impressed. Stiles thanks his father’s job as sheriff and countless hours at the station for his own sharp eye. 

“He didn’t. I did. I’d been trying to get him a chef for months. He insisted he didn’t need one because he ate most of his meals outside the apartment anyway. But something happened recently that made me decide now might be the time to indulge in some decent home cooked meals.”  

“Decent home cooked meals?” Stiles scoffs, “What, did they he get dumped?”

Once again, Lydia gives him the lowered eyebrows.

This time, he motions at the food he’s preparing on the counter, “It’s just…you asked me to make comfort food. I mean…It’s not Thanksgiving and I’m not his mom, so the only other good explanation for binging on comfort food is getting dumped.”

Pursing her lips, she nods, “You’re good. Yeah actually, he did, by his fiancé. A few days ago. They were together for eight years. He really loved her and he’s been trying to seem okay but I can tell he’s pretty torn up about it.”

“That’s too bad.” 

“Yeah it’s awful, but let me tell you, she was a bitch. I hated her; but since I know he loved her, I thought I’d do something nice and hire a chef.”

Whenever Stiles gets broken up with, he usually treats himself to a pint of Ben and Jerry’s…but yeah, a chef works too.

**XXX**

About an hour later, all the food is done and hot, while his pudding and whipped topping chill in the fridge. It all looks exactly like he wanted it too, not that there was ever any doubt in his mind, but it’s still reassuring. He finds plates and starts to set one up for Lydia, when she tells him to make two.

“Isaac should be here any second. He’s been helping me decide, which I think is code for mooching free meals.”

“Okay,” Stiles shrugs, “Who’s Isaac?” He wonders if maybe that’s _The Client_ she’s been talking about.

“He’s the cleaning guy that comes couple times a week to tidy up and keep house.”

“Cleaning guy?” he repeats just as he hears the elevator doors opening. Suddenly, standing the archway is a tall, dirty blonde male with tight curls and cheeks of a God…and _a scarf?_ It’s the beginning of September and he’s wearing a scarf. He looks more like a model than a maid.

Isaac looks him up and down and he removes said scarf from his neck, “Yes, the _cleaning guy_. Never heard of a _male_ house keeper before?”  

“No,” Stiles answers honestly, “But the place doesn’t look very lived is all. I can’t imagine it gets that dirty.”

“That’s the idea.”

**XXX**

Stiles places plates in front of the two of them as Isaac takes the seat beside Lydia. They both start in, neither of them talking as they swallow the first few bites. It’s a very nerve racking silence. He can’t distinguish from either of their straight faces how he’s done. Isaac looks up like he’s about to say something, but when he sees Stiles watching them, he turns his chair and whispers it in Lydia’s ear. 

Like seriously? What are they, _four?_

It seems like an eternity before anyone finally addresses him. He’s picking skin off one own pieces of chicken and dropping it in his mouth when he hears her, “ _Congratulations._ ” He tries not to choke. 

“Huh?”

“ _This_ …this is the best food I’ve had in a long time, better than a lot of restaurants. Everything is perfect. The job is yours if you want it.”  

He laughs when she says, ‘ _if he wants it’_ , like they all can’t tell that he doesn’t really have any other options. He doesn’t even feel the need to ask about pay or hours before he accepts because whatever it is, he knows it’s better than the pathetic wage he’s getting now.  

“I’ll take it.”  

“Derek’s going to like him,” He hears Isaac say to Lydia.

She nods in return, “He’s going to like him _a lot_.”


	2. There's No Sense in Me Staying, then What Does it Matter?

He wakes up on Sunday morning with an almost sick feeling in his stomach. Stiles can’t remember the last time he was this nervous. He’s not sure where it’s even coming from because he’s already got the job. He’d quit the diner and given Lydia his papers the day before. She told him today wasn’t a full work day, just a _‘formal introduction brunch’_. He’s not really sure what that means; let alone what he’s supposed to wear to something like that. Honestly, it just sounds like a late breakfast he totally has to cook himself, so he opts for a classic plaid shirt. Only difference is, today he actually buttons it and tucks it into his pants.  

He hasn’t gotten a key like Lydia and Isaac both seem to have, so Boyd has to buzz him up. He seems pretty surprised to see Stiles in front of his door again, but doesn’t say anything. Stiles wonders if maybe he just isn’t allowed to talk? His building doesn’t have a doorman so he doesn’t really know door guy protocol. He’ll have to remember to ask one of these days.  

Lydia buzzes him in and is already sitting in the kitchen at the counter like before, only this morning she’s reading a magazine. “Good morning Stiles.”

“Morning Lydia.”

“What are you making for your first meal with your new boss? Isaac and I told him _all_ about you.”  

He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It sounds like she’s mocking him. “Did he say anything?”

“He said that you were a waste of money,” Isaac answers, strolling into the kitchen in the same manner he did the day before. Stiles wasn’t aware that he was coming, but once again, he looks more like a fashion model than a cleaning guy. He has on sunglasses and is wearing another scarf. This time it’s olive green and draped over his shoulders.  

“ _Isaac!_ ”   

“What? I was just being honest. My bad.”  

Knowing doesn’t ease his mind the way that Stiles thought it would. He just tries to focus on his cooking instead. He’d already decided on feta and spinach omelets, bacon, sausage, home fries with shallot and green pepper, honey butter croissants and fruit salad. He thinks that should be homey enough, but still somewhat impressive to his boss. Isaac is nice enough to set the breakfast nook, the first real job Stiles has actually seen him do, while starts putting food on serving plates he found in a cabinet.

“He should be down any minute now,” Lydia relays after checking the time on her watch.

“Is there anything I should know, before I meet him?”

She scans the room in thought, “I don’t think so. He hasn’t been in the greatest of moods since the break-up so I’d try not to say anything that would bring up that.”

“He’s pretty standoffish, so don’t be discouraged if just being yourself doesn’t seem to cut it,” adds Isaac. The comment earns Isaac a stern glare.

Stiles is pouring orange juice into a pitcher when he finally hears the guest of honor yawn on his way in. Suddenly he feels breaths hitching a little and his palms starting to get a little slick. He just hopes he doesn’t do anything so awful that he loses the job on his non-official first day.

“Morning!” Lydia calls.

Stopping to look over his shoulder, Stiles sees something a lot different than he was expecting. He was thinking he’d be working for some middle aged workaholic with his own fortune five hundred company and an affinity for young girls. Instead he’s staring at a young, muscular, young man with bright green eyes and body to die for—Stiles can see that even through the males pajama shirt. He doesn’t look much older than Stiles himself, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine. His face is littered with the perfect amount of stubble, which is surprising. This guy doesn’t really seem ‘ _torn up’_ to Stiles. He looks like he’s still got his life together. Stiles vaguely remembers not combing his hair, hiding out in his dad’s house and living on Twinkies during the days following his last break up. It wasn’t one of his finer moments.   

Long story short, this guy is fucking beautiful.

“Derek, this is Stiles Stilinski, your new chef. Stiles, this is Derek Hale, your new employer.”   

“It’s ugh…it’s nice to meet you. T-thanks for the job,” He stutters. He’s still too mesmerized by Derek Hale’s physical appearance to think straight. Dude is so his type it almost hurts. 

“You’re welcome,” is all Derek says. He barely even looks in his general direction, just takes a seat at the breakfast nook. Stiles doesn’t push it, just follows Lydia and Isaac to the nook and sits down.

For some reason he’s expecting things to be really quiet and proper, if not a little awkward. He’s not sure what’s appropriate or not to say or do. Isaac wastes no time putting food on his plate and everyone else seems to just follow suit. Then Isaac turns to ask Lydia something about a sale at Bloomingdales and Stiles is left sitting beside Derek Hale silent and uncomfortable. Out of the corner of his eyes, he watches Derek take a few bites of food. He never changes expressions so Stiles can’t tell if he likes it or dislikes it. Stiles can’t tell _anything_ about this guy. He doesn’t give anything away at all. All he knows is that Derek is pretty…and maybe just a little dead behind the eyes.

“So Mr. Hale…” he starts, hoping to ease some of the tension and break the ice. Derek gives him a side glance but doesn’t say anything, “Obviously I’m a chef. What is it that you do?”

Within seconds there’s an elbow jamming into his side curtesy of Ms. Martin. “Ow! What was that for? It was just a question? I’ll just wait until I get home and Google it then, _Jesus_.”

“I’m a hedge fund manager at my family’s New York office,” Derek interjects dryly.  

Stiles doesn’t know a whole lot about hedge funds. He knows he’s doesn’t have nearly enough money participate in one and a guy living as good as Derek probably only deals with people who have _a lot_ of money, like more money than God. 

“That’s cool. Do you like it?”

Now both Isaac and Lydia are staring at him with wide eyes, but he doesn’t see the problem. He’s making conversation with Derek the same way he makes conversation with most people. If he’s going to be cooking for him all day every day, he should at least get to know the guy.

Derek props his elbow on the table and turns to Stiles with a blank expression, “ _Do you like your job?”_  

He pops a grape into his mouth and thinks for a second, “I guess. I’ve only been a personal chef for like an hour but so far it seems pretty cool. The food’s good.”   

Derek’s stare only seems to grow harsher, but suddenly his expression is softening and he even smiles a little. “I should’ve worded that differently.”  

“Life’s too short to have regrets,” Stiles shrugs and this time Derek looks at Lydia with a raised eyebrow.

“Where did you find this guy?” he mouths.

Lydia looks confused. She can’t tell if she’s about to be ridiculed or praised, but she mouths back honestly, “… _Internet._ ”  

**XXX**

On his way home, all Stiles can think about is how happy he is to have a job that isn’t going to suck ass. He might actually like it…at least he thinks he’s going to like it up until his alarm is going off at five in the morning telling him to get up. 

Derek works a nine to five, like most ‘ _normal_ ’ people. That wouldn’t be a bad thing, except that means if Stiles is going to have breakfast on the table by seven forty-five, he needs to leave his apartment by five forty-five. It wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t committing from Brooklyn…or if he could drive, but he hasn’t driven since he got a ticket for driving without insurance that nearly bankrupted him and almost forced him to move back home.

He plans out his menu while he showers and decides on pancakes, those seem homey— _boring_ but homey. He’s thinking he’ll add a cinnamon swirl and top them with a cream cheese glaze, maybe some maple glazed bacon. If that isn’t comforting, he doesn’t know what is.

Even though he knows about Derek’s broken engagement, it never came up the day before. He doesn’t know the woman’s name or what happened; and although he feels comfortable asking a lot of questions, Lydia told him specifically not to bring that up. He doesn’t know Derek well, or like _at all,_ but even though he doesn’t _look_ depressed, he definitely seems that way. The only time he really talked was when Stiles spoke to him. Other than that, he was pretty removed from what was going on. Stiles got him to smile once. He’s hoping maybe his food will be able to do that again, if for no other reason than Stiles really loved seeing that smile.

And then he mentally smacks himself, because Derek is his boss—his super rich, super-hot, super single, and one hundred percent _not in love with him_ , boss. He shouldn’t be thinking about how attractive the guy is…even if he is the most beautiful creature Stiles has ever personally laid eyes on. And even if Derek Hale was gay, _which Stiles doubts because Lydia referred to his fiancé as a she_ , there’s no way he’d be interested in him. Stiles is so far out of his league, it wouldn’t even be fair to laugh at. He doesn’t compare physically and he damn sure doesn’t begin to touch him financially. Derek’s apartment alone cost forty-eight million dollars. He knows because he googled his address last night. He can’t think about his boss in _that way_ , because not only is it unprofessional, it’s impossible. There’s no point in getting his hopes up.

He throws on some clothes, although it’s nothing special. It’s way too early to expect him to get dressed for cooking. He then heads out to catch the train and it’s still dark outside. The ride into Manhattan is quiet and peaceful, surprisingly. It’s hard to find that combination is a city like New York. It’s a lot more exciting than Beacon Hills could ever hope to be. Despite the early hour, Boyd is already standing at the door when arrives at the building.

“Ms. Martin asked me to give this to you,” he says, offering Stiles a key. Stiles hadn’t thought about how he was going to get into the apartment this early in the morning.

He laughs, happily taking the key. “Wow, so you _can_ talk.”

“ _Hilarious._ Just stick the key in the keyhole underneath the buttons. It’ll leave you right in Mr. Hale’s apartment.”     

Stiles does exactly that and walks right into the dark living room. He can see the skyline through the windows and he thinks he might literally be the prettiest thing he’s seen since he moved here, other than Mr. Hale of course—

_No._

Stiles pushes thoughts of his boss out of his mind and flicks on the kitchen light, only to be scared out of his mind by someone sitting at the counter drinking coffee from a bright red mug. “Holy shit! Who the hell—Mr. Hale? Why are you sitting here in the dark?”

He calmly sips from the mug in his hands. Stiles notices he’s wearing another matching pajama set with his initials engraved into the pocket. It’s surprisingly sexy, but this guy could probably make a potato sack look good. “The sun will start coming up any minute. I like to drink my coffee when I first wake up.”  

“That’s cool, doesn’t mean you can’t turn on the lights, but to each his own I guess. You like pancakes?”

Derek shrugs as if the question is stupid, “Doesn’t everybody?”

Stiles is gathering wet ingredients from the fridge. “What about cinnamon rolls?”

“Once again,” sighs Derek, “same question.”

“What about together?” 

That question gets Derek to peek up from the top of his mug skeptically. His tone suggests that he’s slowly growing irritated, but he seems to indulge Stiles anyway. “Is that even possible?”

“You’re about to find out Mr. Hale.”

“ _Stop that_.” 

He immediately puts his spoon down and stops scooping brown sugar into a measuring cup. “I’m sorry. Do you not like brown sugar?”

Derek looks at Stiles’ hands and then back up at him, his eyebrows knitted in frustration, “What? No, not that. Keep cooking. Stop calling me ‘Mr. Hale’.”

The command feels like a trap. It’s like having one of your parent’s co-workers or friends tell you to call them by their first name, only to get in trouble later when your parents hear you say it. “What else would I call you?”

“Derek.”

“You serious?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“Okay.”

For a second his stomach flutters at the thought of being on a more personal level with his boss until Derek says, “Lydia and Isaac both do. You might as well too,” and it totally kills all of his excitement. He’s not even sure why that made him feel so special? He’s not special. He’s just the cook.

“Is Isaac really your cleaning guy?” Stiles finds himself asking next. Now seems like as good a time as any, seeing as Isaac isn’t around to defend himself.

Derek seems confused, “Yes, why wouldn’t he be?”

He scans the room before he continues, even though as far as he knows, they’re alone. “It’s just, he doesn’t really _look_ like a cleaning guy or anything, you know? He looks like a walking Burberry ad or something.” 

The edge of Derek’s lip curls up but he quickly hides it behind his coffee cup. Stiles is pretty sure he just smiled. “It’s the scarf isn’t it? Or was it the sunglasses? They throw me off too.”  

 “Wait, so he wears those _all the time?_ ”  He’s laughing so much that he has to put his utensils down for a minute.

“I’ve honestly never seen him wear the same ones twice. I don’t know where he gets them all, but I’m starting to think it might be a fetish,” now even Derek’s laughing a little. His laugh is deep and smooth. Stiles enjoys the sound of it and hopes this isn’t one of the few times he’ll ever get to hear it.

“Oh my God, you’re kidding?” He can’t imagine someone liking scarves that much. Like why? If your neck is really _that_ cold, buy a turtleneck.

“What’s so funny?” Lydia asks, walking in and setting her bag on the island. She looks surprised not only to see Derek, but to see him in a semi-decent mood. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting dressed for work?”

Although he frowns, he doesn’t protest. Stiles feels bad for distracting Derek. He doesn’t regret it though. He was enjoying the company. Often times he’s cooking alone with just his headphones in, so having people to talk to while he does it is nice. It doesn’t hurt that Derek’s easy to look at too.

When his boss is out of the room, Stiles notices Lydia staring at him with a self-satisfied grin on her face. It makes him vaguely uncomfortable.

“ _What?_ ”

“I knew I wasn’t going to regret hiring you. That’s the first time he’s laughed since the break-up.”

**XXX**

Thursday morning when Stiles flicks the lights on, Derek is seated at the counter for the fourth time in a row, the same mug as usual in his hands.

“Is that like, your favorite mug?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. He’s sitting there in another pajama set, half the buttons of his shirt undone. It’s not even fair. This should be considered soft core porn or something. No one should be this attractive in a matching pajama set. Pajama sets should only be reserved for Christmas catalogs and small children.

“It’s just, you use it every morning and I’ve been through your cabinets. I know for a fact you own several dozen other mugs.”

“Oh…Yeah, I know. This one was a gift though, so I’m sort of partial to it.”

Sentimental value—that’s adorable. “Who’s it from?”

Derek’s face contorts into a strange expression and Stiles wonders if maybe he hit a sore spot.

“My fiancé gave it to me for our last anniversary. My _ex_ fiancé.”

He mentally kicks himself in the face. It’s just a mug. He didn’t think it was going to come with an entire tragic backstory. He’s brought up the one thing he’s not supposed to talk about and now Derek looks upset and he feels like an ass. “O-oh, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was—I thought—You know what, I’m just going to shut up and make breakfast now. Do you like crepes? I like crepes. How about chocolate? And Strawberries? Everybody likes chocolate and strawberries right? Maybe I’ll add little mint? I—”

“ _Stiles._ ”

“What? Do you not like chocolate or strawberries? Should I fill them with something else? I can do Bavarian cream or maybe apple cinnamon or—”

Derek sets his mug down and sighs, “ _Stiles._ ” 

“Oh, is it the crepes? It doesn’t have to be crepes? Maybe a quiche or poached eggs? I can do stuffed French toast—”

“Stiles! You’re rambling,” Derek’s voice is firm and irritated in a way that Stiles hasn’t heard before. He feels like that’s his fault for bringing up the fiancé, “Crepes are fine. Just please, _stop talking_.”

And so Stiles shuts his mouth and continues gathering ingredients from the fridge. He can’t believe he fucked up like that. He wouldn’t be surprised if he got a call before dinner saying his services were no longer needed. He had one instruction, _just don’t bring up the ex-fiancé_ , and somehow he’d managed to fuck that up. He can see how upset Derek is by just glancing at him. His shoulders are slumped lower and he’s gripping the cup tighter, but his eyes are dead. He looks heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts out stupidly, but sincere, “I didn’t mean to upset you. Lydia told me that was a sensitive subject. I didn’t know the mug…I just, I’m really sorry.”  

He immediately averts his eyes when Derek looks up at him. He feels too bad to even make eye contact.

“It’s fine Stiles, you couldn’t have known. Let’s just…let’s change the subject.”

That’s something he can totally agree with. “O-okay, to what?”

“Anything,” When Stiles doesn’t offer a new topic, Derek sighs and takes it upon himself. “How’d you get into cooking?”

“You wanna talk about me?” He asks. He’s just a little surprised. He’d gotten the impression growing up, that people with money generally like to talk about two things: _themselves and their money_.

Derek replies with a face that silently screams _‘duh’_ and makes Stiles blush like an idiot.

“Well, my mom used to cook, like all the time. I literally woke up to breakfast every morning and she packed all my lunches and my dad and I came home to dinner every night. It was awesome, she was really good.”

“Did you cook with her?”

Stiles laughs, “I _tried._ I mostly measured ingredients wrong and ruined stuff but I always helped whenever she asked me to. It wasn’t until after she…she um _passed_ , that I actually wanted to be good at it. So I started reading books and watching cooking shows. My dad would drive me to classes and I took cooking like every year in school. I got my first job in a restaurant at fourteen sweeping floors but I always stayed late and talked to the cooks. I was cooking on weekends by sixteen and I’ve been bouncing around to different restaurants and between different chefs trying to learn as much as I can since.”  

Derek nods intently. He actually listening and he even seems genuinely interested. “So you have no formal training?”

“I didn’t go to culinary school, cost too much. I trained under some of the best chef’s in California though. It wasn’t easy to get them to work with me at first. It took a lot of begging most times, but I could usually get them to let me work with them in exchange for odd jobs or prom dates or something.”

“ _Prom dates?”_

“Yeah, you’d be surprised how many times that one came up, but there were a lot of single daughters out there. I went to like four proms my senior year. I felt like a prostitute. It was awkward.” 

Derek smirks but Stiles is being completely serious. “Don’t like the idea of dating the boss’ daughter?” he teases.

Stiles shrugs, “The boss’ son maybe.”

Derek eyes go wide and Stiles feels like an idiot. He isn’t one to just throw his sexual orientation out there and shove gay rights down anyone’s throat or anything, but he isn’t ashamed either.

“Oh…”

“That isn’t a problem is it?”

“Not at all, that’s fine, I just…I wouldn’t have guessed if you hadn’t told me.”

He’s heard that before. “Do I not look gay or something?”

“No.”

“And what does gay look like?” Stiles teases because he can see his boss getting flustered.

“Um…I feel like that question is a trap so I’m just going to go get dressed before Lydia comes in throwing a fit.”

Stiles can’t help but laugh, “ _Good answer_.”

**XXX**

And suddenly early morning conversations while Stiles cooks and Derek drinks coffee, are just a regular thing. Stiles definitely doesn’t complain and Derek seems to enjoy himself, so even better. Mornings are the only time of the day that Stiles is really alone with Derek. His boss doesn’t usually come home for lunch and dinner generally consists of him, Derek, and Lydia—Isaac too, when he’s around.

The conversations haven’t really gotten too personal, but Stiles has learned a few things about the illustrious Derek Hale. He knows that Derek played basketball growing up, graduated from Princeton, has two sisters and likes to read. It’s a nice start. Stiles figures he’ll learn more about him as time goes on. It’s been about two weeks, though it feels like he’s known Derek for longer because their conversation flows fairly easily. Even still, he’s surprised that Wednesday morning when Derek asks him if he knows anything vegetarian since he has yet to make any requests.

“Vegetarian? Why?” Stiles could never give up eating meat. He hopes Derek isn’t about to. Not that he couldn’t cook that way, but it would definitely limit his menu.

“I have a _friend_ that’s vegetarian,” Derek answers. There’s a strange emphasis on the word ‘friend’. Stiles is pretty sure it was probably unintentional but he can’t ignore it. 

“A friend? What kind of friend?”   

He watches as Derek’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he nervously fidgets in his seat. He’s never seen embarrassed Derek, but it’s cute as shit and a little distracting actually. Almost everything Derek does is distracting. “I’m going to be honest with you. I need you to do me a favor. I’ll pay you overtime for it.”

It doesn’t exactly answer his question, but he nods anyway. Like he would turn down overtime? He hasn’t gotten his first check yet, but more money is always good money. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I’ve given Lydia and Isaac Friday night off. I don’t want them here embarrassing me with stories or pictures. My ex, _Kate_ , agreed to talk things out with me over dinner that night. She’s a vegetarian and she used to complain about how I never supported her views or something. I think you’re food is good and I want you to cook something vegetarian, _for us_ , show her that I listen and I’m willing to compromise.”

“You want to get her back?” It’s the first thing Stiles asks. He’s not sure why he cares, why he wants to know so bad. It’s not like it changes the fact that he has to cook for them that night...or that Derek is straight and not interested, but he finds himself feeling a little jealous, maybe ever hurt.

Derek shrugs, but Stiles can tell it’s half assed. He’s trying to look more non-chalant than he actually feels. “I want to try.”

It’s hard not to feel bad for the guy. He has everything anyone could ever want, but what he really wants is some girl. It’s like some sort of tragic paradox.

“ _Alright,_ ” Stiles sighs, sucking up his pride and forcing a smile, “You want to win your fiancé back, I’ll cook the shit out of a vegetarian dinner for you.”

**XXX**

Friday night Stiles is standing in the kitchen literally pulling out all the stops. He couldn’t say where his sudden drive has come from, but for some reason this meal seems more important than any meal he’s ever cooked before. He knows that his cooking is good, that’s not the issue. He just feels this unexplainable need to impress. It’s not even that he wants to impress Derek’s fiancé so much as he wants to impress _Derek_. It has nothing to do with the fact that he thinks Derek’s hot and he has this elaborate fantasy where he one day wins his heart through food; but after Derek said he thought Stiles’ food was good, he just doesn’t want to disappoint.  

“How does this look?” Derek asks, coming in with his third tie in fifteen minutes. He’s been a little more on edge than usual.

Stiles shakes his head. How is it that a guy that handles billions of _other people’s_ dollars for a living is having such a hard time picking out a meaningless accessory? “Fine, _just like the other two looked_.”

“I don’t know…”

“You look fine. I think you’re just nervous. You want a drink? I can make you a drink to help ease your nerves some.”

It’s obvious that sitting down is the last thing Derek wants to do right now. He hasn’t been panicking, but Stiles can tell he’s anxious. Regardless, Derek takes a seat at the counter.

“What do you like?” Stiles asks, “I was going to make some dessert cocktails for you two after dinner, but I can make whatever you want right now.”   

“Jack and coke.”

“Strong, but classic,” Stiles comments as he grabs a can of coke from Derek’s fully stocked fridge. He notices Derek staring at him skeptically as he pours.

“So not only are you a chef, but you’re also a bartender?”  

“Food and drinks go hand in hand, especially a good bottle of wine or a cocktail.”

He still looks confused. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

Stiles knows he looks young, but Derek’s question doesn’t sound condescending or mean. It sounds like a genuine, if not a little concerned.

“I’m twenty-four.”

“You’re serious?” Derek asks, not even looking at the drink Stiles has just slid across the counter.  

“ _Scout’s honor,_ ” He holds up his fingers in mock boy scouts salute and smiles, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine. I had you pegged for twenty honestly, at most. You look good.”  

Stiles immediately attempts to hide his blush by looking at the celery he’s begun chopping. He shouldn’t feel this way over a stupid comment. Derek didn’t even mean anything by it and it’s nothing he hasn’t heard a thousand times before.

“Thanks, I’m um…I’m flattered. So do you.” The second the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. Why did he just say that? It probably sounded like he was hitting on him. “For your age—I mean you look good for your age.”

Derek just looks away. Stiles hopes he didn’t just offend him or creep him out or something. He isn’t trying to make him uncomfortable and he hopes Derek knows that. He shouldn’t have said anything at all.

Averting the topic of conversation to something less awkward, Derek asks what he’s making. Stiles thanks God and gladly follows suit.

“I know this really good coconut curry recipe, so I made that with fresh vegetables and homemade egg noodles and a side of cabbage slaw. I’m serving spring rolls as appetizers and desert cocktails for after.”

“Doesn’t sound bad. It would probably be better if had some sort of meat in it, but you haven’t made anything awful so far.”

“Thanks?” Stiles says because he’s pretty sure that’s some sort of backwards compliment. He refrains from saying something stupid that embarrasses him all over again.  

“You’re welcome…thanks for doing this and not telling Lydia and Isaac. I know they both would’ve made a big deal of it.”

Before Stiles can say anything back, Derek’s being buzzed from downstairs and going to pick up Kate. He wishes he’d had a few more minutes to talk to him by himself, because he really does enjoy talking to Derek, but he understands this is an important night. It’s not about him. He’s just an accessory here…like he is in Derek’s entire life.

**XXX**

He’s surprised to see Derek come into the kitchen with his ex instead of heading straight to the dining area. She’s tall and thin with blonde hair and sharp features. She’s definitely pretty, but she looks tough…a lot like Derek actually. She has on a tight red dress that shows off he toned figure and Stiles has to admit she does look nice. He can see what Derek sees in her physically.

“Stiles, this is Kate. Kate this is Stiles. He’s my new chef. He made our dinner tonight.”

He waves, “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

She looks him up and down with a sweet smile, but completely throws Stiles a curve ball when she opens her mouth, “This is your chef? A little young and scrawny don’t you think?”  

Derek looks between Stiles and Kate with his mouth agape. It’s clear he’s not only surprised but embarrassed, “Stiles is a very good cook.” 

“I guess I’ll have to see for myself,” is all she says before she walks out of the kitchen without another glance, but Derek lingers back with a slight frown on his face.

“I’m—”

Stiles waves it off, “It’s fine. Go in there, eat some dinner, and win your girl back or whatever.”  

**XXX**

Contrary to what he expected, the night doesn’t get any better as it progresses. He’s sitting on the kitchen counter eating curry until it’s time for dessert when he hears Kate call from the dining room.

“Chef! Che- _ef!”_

He knows he’ the chef, but he’s never actually been referred to that way. Still, Stiles slides off the counter and slowly enters the room, “Were you calling me?” 

“Yes,” Kate says, rolling her eyes as if he’s an idiot, “You are the chef, _aren’t you?_ ”

“Yeah…”

Derek’s sitting across from Kate rubbing his temples with his hand and growling under his breath, “I told you his name is Stiles.”  

“I’m sorry… _Stiles_ ,” Kate patronizes, putting emphasis on his name, “These rolls, they’re vegetarian right?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And the vegetables that you used, are they organic? I’m sure Derek told you that I don’t eat processed food, anything treated with hormones, pesticides, so on and so forth.” 

She sounds like a lot of the girls he remembers going to school with in California: self-centered and bored. She needs something to worry about, since money clearly isn’t an issue. He’d already anticipated something like this when he’d picked up some extra ingredients for dinner. “Yes, it all is.”

Kate smiles, seeming proud of herself even though she’s done nothing. “ _Lovely_.”

Derek lets out a sigh of relief and mouths ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’, to which Stiles just shrugs. He’s known his fair share of quirky exes and just people in general, he gets it. Besides, it’s New York. Everyone here is a little different.  

He heads back to the kitchen to eat in silence. It’s pretty relaxing until he starts to hear the conversation going on in the room right beside him. It had been quiet at first, so he’d assumed it was going well…but judging by the undertones he’s picking up, it must not be going as well as he thought.

_“What do you want from me Derek? I understand you’re growing up and you want to settle down, but I’m not sure if I want that with you. I’m only thirty-two.”_

_“You’re thirty-four?”_ Derek responds and Stiles uses everything he has to hold his shit together and not laugh, especially because Derek sounds so genuinely confused.

_“Well I feel thirty-two. The point is Derek, we want two different things. I realized that during our engagement.”_

_“We’ve been together for eight years! How is that you’re just now figuring out that we want different things? Up until you broke up with me, I thought we were on the same page!”_

_“We’re not, okay? I’m sorry to shatter the fantasy that you’re living in, but I don’t want to be a part of your picture perfect success story. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life as your wife, raising a bunch of brats and playing second fiddle to Derek Hale.”_

_“I never asked you to do that!”_

_“You didn’t have to. Your life revolves around your job. You’re practically impossible to open up and you act like it kills you to do normal things like make friends and socialize with others. The only people you ever talk to are your assistant, the doorman, and your strange, metrosexual housekeeper. Unlike you, I don’t want to die alone.”_

_“I wouldn’t be alone. I have you.”_

_“No, you don’t.”_

_“Kate…”_

_“We broke up. We’re still broken up. I don’t even know why I came over. This is hopeless and I’m leaving. Tell the child you have working in the kitchen to stay in school because his curry was over seasoned and his slaw was underdressed.”_

Stiles takes a deep breath to keep his composure. _God, she’s a bitch_ , he thinks. Not only is she awful to Derek but she insulted his food, both of which were completely unnecessary.

He hears Derek and Kate walk to the elevator where Derek is still trying to convince her to stay and talk. Something tells Stiles that she won’t be coming back, so he heads into the dining room and begins picking up Kate’s plates and utensils. It’s already bad enough that she didn’t stay. He doesn’t want Derek to finish his meal looking at her spot as a reminder.  

“ _You don’t have to do that.”_

Derek is leaning in the doorway when he looks up. His eyes are as dull and distant as they were the first time they met.

“You already cooked. Cleaning up after her isn’t your job.”

“It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t think you’d want to look at her stuff while you finished…if you wanted to finish.”

Derek attempts to smile, but it barely makes it halfway. It’s worse than not seeing him try at all. It seemed as though Derek was loosening up in the last few weeks, but now, Stiles wonders if he’ll revert back to the depression Lydia said he was in.  

“Are you still eating in the kitchen?”

“Y-yeah.”  

“I’ll join you in there.”

They head to the other room, where Stiles slides back onto the counter and once again pulls his plate into his lap. He slurps curry into his mouth as Derek eats calmly and quietly.

He wants to say something, _anything that might be sort helpful_ , but nothing comes to mind. He’s only known Derek for a couple of weeks. He couldn’t possibly know what to say to cheer him up some. It disgusts him to think that Kate’s known him for years. She’d probably know exactly what to say…if she wasn’t the reason something needed to be said.  

Before he can begin to think of some cheesy, generic line, Derek’s addressing him, “You heard most of that, didn’t you?”

Stiles looks up with wide eyes and mouth filled with an obnoxious amount of food. “ _Um…_ ” Derek shoots him a look that says ‘ _don’t lie_ ’, so Stiles swallows and replies, “Yeah, the fight at least.”

Silently Derek nods.

“I’m sorry…you know, that she left and it didn’t work out.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to apologize for her.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not. She insulted my food.”  

Derek frowns, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. It was rude. Your food is fine.”

“ _I know right!_ I-I mean, thanks.”

Derek just nods silently in reply and continues to eat so Stiles follows suit. He figures his boss probably doesn’t want to talk much, if at all. They’ll probably finish eating, he’ll clean up, and then he’ll catch a late train home. 

When he finishes his first plate, he slides off the counter and heads towards the stove, intent of having another. The best part about working for Derek is eating food he wouldn’t generally be able to afford to make at home. He tends to make large portions of everything just so that there’s enough to go around for whoever’s staying that night. It’s always him, Derek and Lydia, but whenever Isaac’s working, he always joins. Stiles likes to make sure everyone gets their fill, especially him, less he might not eat otherwise.

As he refills his plate, he notices that Derek is finishing his off too. “Seconds?”

 “Hit me.”

“ _Hit me?”_ Stiles repeats with a laugh, “Sort of makes me feel like a real bartender.”

“If you wanna play bartender, I could use another drink too.”  

Stiles frowns but refrains from asking if this has anything to do with the bad date. Derek is a grown man and if he wants a drink, _depressed or not_ , it’s Stiles job to do so. It’s not like he’s never drowned a bad day in few cocktails. He just wishes Derek wasn’t so broken up about that bitch, Kate. He doesn’t deserve that, especially not from someone like her. She definitely doesn’t deserve him.   

“You wanna try one of my dessert cocktails? It ugh…it might make you feel better?” he offers nervously. Even Stiles knows he can be a bit of a line stepper at times, but he still feels awkward bringing up what just transpired. He’s not sure how to address it, especially considering his relationship with his boss is a very new one.  

“What kinds can you make?”

His face lights up. He’s not one to brag but he’s just as good with liquor as he is with food, “A bunch of kinds: _gingerbread, mint chocolate chip, orange creamsicle, key lime pie, caramel cheesecake, apple pie, pumpkin, triple chocolate mudslide, birthday cake_. Whatever you want.”   

Derek forks some curry into his mouth as he thinks, “How about you make us some of your favorites and I’ll try them out.”

Out of habit, he goes to nod, until he actually realizes what Derek said.

“ _Us?_ ” he questions, stuffing his mouth with cabbage slaw. “Are you sure you want me—”

“ _Do you really think I should be allowed to drink alone in this condition?”_

“I ugh…um….I don’t—was that in those job description papers Lydia gave me because I only skimmed them and I don’t know what the proper response to that question is?”  

It’s quiet for a moment as Derek just stares at him with a straight face. He’s almost sure he’s about to get in trouble for not reading those papers. He knew he should’ve read them, he meant to, really but— _well no_ , he didn’t; but if he still has a job tomorrow, he promises he will.  

He’s about to worry himself into a minor panic attack when suddenly Derek laughs. He _laughs_. “That was a joke, but you really should have seen your face…I’m fine, but I wouldn’t mind having someone to hang out and have a few drinks with after that disaster.”  

Stiles feels kind of flattered honestly, that Derek Hale— _hot, billionaire_ —would choose him to hang out with. He probably has tons of cool, rich friends he could invite over…or at least Lydia and Isaac. He wastes no time pulling out liquor bottles and mixing up several cocktails full of flavor and heavy on the alcohol.

He is _not_ going to disappoint.  

**XXX**

“No fucking way?” Stiles laughs, his drink sloshing around his cup. He just barely keeps from spilling as he leans against the counter for support. They’re both about six or seven martinis in and feeling a lot looser as the night drags on. “Your house? Your _whole_ house?”

“Not the _whole_ house,” Derek clarifies, playfully pushing Stiles’ shoulder. The other male struggles not to fall over, “Just like, the back half.” 

“So this Kate chick, accidently set your house on fire and your family was okay with this? That wasn’t your first sign that she was a little loopy?”

“Good point, but it was like six years ago. They got over it eventually…Except my Uncle Peter. She may or may not have destroyed his bedroom and family antiques collection. He got crazy money from insurance, but still swears that she did it on purpose. They don’t exactly get along.”  

“I’m sure. There are exes I haven’t talked to in years over stupid things. If one of them had set fire to my house with incense, I think I would’ve killed them. I wouldn’t be chef, I’d be a seasoned criminal.”

“Well thank God it never happened,” Derek pauses to lift his drink and take a sip, “Because I don’t think my life was complete until I’d tasted Boston Crème Pie in the form of a martini.”  

Stiles hates the way liquor makes it harder for him to disguise the way his skin flushes. He knows his cheeks are burning brighter than Christmas lights right now. “Thanks. I’m just glad I’ve got a job that lets me show them off. That diner I was working at on forty-second was a glorified piece of shit disguised by counterfeit Broadway memorabilia.”

“You’re welcome, but Lydia’s the one who hired you. I was totally against the chef idea. I’m a grown man. I think I can figure out how to feed myself, but nothing I had was ever this good.”

“No problem. It’s what I do,” he gives an offhanded wave, “Don’t be afraid to make requests either. There isn’t anything I can’t make.”

“You sound cocky.”

“ _Confident_ , there’s a difference. I totally have the skills to back it up; and _thank God_ because I’m literally not good at anything else.” He slurs on the last part, his body falling forward from the counter for a second until Derek catches him. At this point, he hardly even registers when Derek makes actual physical contact with him. He’s too drunk to bother to be excited or embarrassed about that…or to register that Derek doesn’t take his arms off him after he’s stable.  

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Oh no, it is. Apparently I’m not even a good driver because I got a ticket my first week here. Let me tell you that commuting around this city without a car is a total pain in the ass. I thought that was a myth, but every train literally smells like fresh piss.”

Suddenly Derek’s frowning with drunken concern, the kind that’s meant to be helpful but mostly looks dramatic. “You take the subways?”

“Every day and night,” replies Stiles with a proud grin. He’d always heard you weren’t a “ _real New Yorker_ ” unless you took public transportation.

“ _Night?_ ” This time Derek sounds almost mortified.  

Stiles doesn’t see the big deal. Everybody does it and as long as you don’t bother anyone else, most times they won’t bother you either. “Yeah…it’s pretty late now actually. I should probably leave before it gets any later.”

He sets his drink down and turns, ready to gather his stuff and go home but he feels a hand gripping tighter against his bicep.

“No.”

“ _Yes._ Unless I want to get mugged.”

“Mugged? Definitely no. Nope. No. You’re drunk. You don’t need to try to make your way to a train like this.”

“How else would I get home?” Stiles asks as he shakes his arm out of Derek’s grip.

Derek bites his lip, trying to think on his toes, “My driver’s already home. Let me call you a cab?”

He doesn’t get his first check until Monday. He doesn’t have extra money to spare on a cab across boroughs until then. “Can’t afford it.”

“I’ll pay.”

“Nope, I couldn’t ask you to do that. Thanks but I’ll just buy a water and catch the subway,” Stiles says but the minute he tries to step away from the counter, he stumbles and ends up leaning against it for support.

“Fine, then you’re staying here,” Derek says, catching his arm again.  

“Dude, I couldn’t.”

He tries to gather his composure, but Derek’s immediately trying to help him stand up. He can’t believe he got wasted at his boss’ house and now needs support to stand straight. He needs to leave now before he manages to further humiliate himself.

“You can and you are. You can hardly even walk. I’m not letting my chef leave at almost midnight, drunk off his ass, and asking to be taken advantage of.”

“Taken advantage of? Ha. _No_. Robbed, _yes_.” 

“No?” Derek questions. He’s standing in front of Stiles with one hand on his arm and the other on his waste. Stiles is definitely confused as Derek locks eyes. “What if I told you that’s what I was thinking about right now?”

“Is that a joke, because I’m way to drunk for jokes?” He has to be kidding? Stiles doesn’t remember being flirted with. He would’ve picked up on those hints, wouldn’t he?  

“ _No, it’s not._ ”

Stiles is having trouble believing what’s happening, but when someone this desirable throws you a hint, you just take it.

“ _Well then I’d tell you that you don’t have to take advantage._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Story and chp title -- "Carl Barker" by Dance Gavin Dance_


	3. What Else Should We Do, when Talking's for Functioning People?

He has no idea where the hell he is when his eyesight slowly adjusts itself. There’s no band posters on the wall like there are in his room and this bed is way too soft to be his. _‘What the hell did I do last night?’_ he wonders as he brings his hands up to rub his eyes. He doesn’t even have time to focus before he hears the sound of a door creaking open.

“Hey Derek, did you still want me to drop that jacket off at the cleaners because I don’t see it downstairs with the ot—”

Almost immediately Stiles is dropping his hands from his eyes and looking around the room. _Derek?_ Why is someone looking for Derek?

“ _Stiles_ …wh-what are you doing in here?”  

He looks forward only to see the last person he’s expecting. “ _I-Isaac_?”  

It takes him a second to finally catch on to what’s happening, but when he does, he realizes why Isaac’s sporting such a traumatized expression. He’s sitting up in Derek’s bed naked, as Derek lies next to him, still asleep and also naked.  

“ _Oh my God, oh my God_ ,” he mutters, panicking.

Isaac immediately covers his eyes and slides out of the door, “ _I’m sorry. I’m sorry._ ”

Stiles wastes no time climbing out of bed, throwing on his boxers and gathering the rest of his clothes as he sneaks out. “Isaac. _Isaac wait_.” 

Isaac’s already halfway down the hall, still covering his eyes and shaking his head. Stiles runs up behind him, taking his arm and pulling him into the nearest empty room.

“Look Isaac, about what you saw in there—”

“You mean you and Derek, _our boss_ , in a bed together _naked?_ ”  

“It ugh…it wasn’t what it looked like?” Stiles offers, even though he knows it’s exactly that. He doesn’t remember a whole lot, but he knows they had sex. He’s not that naive, and if nothing else, he’s sort as shit and he reeks of stale cum.  

Isaac just rolls his eyes.

“Please, you can’t say anything,” he begs. Not only does he not want people to know, but he doesn’t want to lose his job. He likes his job and when Derek wakes up, Stiles knows he’ll probably think he made the biggest mistake of his life. He’d rather just not talk about it ever again if it means that nothing changes.   

“About which part? The part where you had sex with Derek or the part where I walked in on you in all your shame?”  

Stiles has never hated someone as much as he hates Isaac right now. He can’t stand the idea of people having power over him, but he needs Isaac to be on his side. He needs to know that he won’t say anything or tell anyone. If this becomes a big deal, he’s almost guaranteed to lose his job. As if Derek would want to be reminded of the fact the he slummed it once with his chef because he was vulnerable. It was a mistake. Derek was drunk and he would never, _ever_ , want to have sex with someone like Stiles again. Stiles isn’t stupid, he knows that. He just wants to put it all behind him.

“I’ll pay you!”

Isaac rolls his eyes, “Pssh, with what? The money you have in your wallet right now? You couldn’t afford me.”

Stiles sighs, running his hands through his hair. Isaac’s probably right. He’s pretty sure he’s got less than twenty bucks in his wallet. That isn’t enough to pay off an eleven year old, let alone a grown man.  

“And no, I am also not interested in your sexual offerings either.”

“I wasn’t going to—” Stiles starts, but he shuts up when Isaac shoots him a disbelieving look. He’s already been caught with Derek. He couldn’t argue himself out of that if he tried. Isaac probably thinks he sleeps with all his bosses to get ahead now. “Alright, look, there’s gotta be something you want.”

Isaac’s lips scrunch as he makes a show of looking around the room in thought, “You know what…actually there is something I’ve had my eye on.”

“What?” Stiles is willing to do anything.

“Barney’s has a new Alexander McQueen scarf. It’s—”

“A scarf? You want me to buy you a _scarf?_ ”

Isaac clears his throat, a clear sign for Stiles to shut up, “It’s navy blue with polka dots and a paisley bottom, about four hundred thirty dollars, give or take a few.”

And that’s when Stiles throws his hands up in the air, because Isaac must be pulling his leg. What scarf is that expensive? “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“So in exchange for keeping your mouth shut, you want me to buy you a scarf that’s almost half my rent?” 

Isaac just nods, not seeing the issue. “We get paid on Monday, you’ll have it. You get me the scarf sometime next week and I won’t say a word about your drunken escapades with Derek.”

He can’t believe he was dumb enough to get himself into this predicament. No matter how incredibly sexy or charming Derek Hale was, Stiles should have never allowed himself to end up in this situation. He hopes the sex was at least really good because he hardly remembers it.

He attemptss to glare at Isaac, but it’s no use. Feeling defeated, he puts one hand out for Isaac to shake.

“Fine, _fucking fine_. You have a deal.”  

“Thanks.”

“You want it giftwrapped too?” he asks bitterly.

Isaac just laughs, “Sure if you want to.” He turns to leave the room, but stops just before he walks out the door, “And for the record, I wouldn’t have said anything anyway.”

In this moment, Stiles could literally punch him. “Then why the hell didn’t you just say that?”

“Because it was fun to mess with you and besides, now I’m getting a new scarf out of it.”

“You couldn’t have just bought the scarf yourself?”

“ _Pssh_ ,” he pulls his lips into a smirk before adding, “ _Who would be stupid enough to pay four hundred and thirty dollars for one scarf?_ ”

**XXX**

Stiles is pretty sure his day can’t get any worse. He woke up in bed with his boss after a drunken night. Then he got swindled out of four hundred bucks. If there’s a rock bottom, he’s convince he’s hit it as he rides the elevator back up to Derek’s to make lunch, but he’s wrong.

He is so, _so wrong_.

He’s expecting to go in the kitchen,  get a late lunch whipped up without any interruption and then disappear until dinner, but _no_. When he walks in, sitting right in the kitchen is Derek. He’s sipping a cup of tea at his usual spot. Stiles immediately feels his stomach twist into knots. What is he supposed to do, to say? He’d just planned on pretending it had never happened but now it’s like he can’t even think straight.  

“Hey,” Derek says, before Stiles can figure out how to approach this situation. 

“H- _hey_.” 

“How’d you sleep? I think might’ve had one too many cocktails, but they were worth it.”  

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Derek says, taking a long sip of his drink. “I meant to call before you got back, but we were thinking, since you’re probably tired, that we would order something in so you didn’t have to cook. You’re welcome to join us.”

“ _We?_ ” Stiles questions, because he hasn’t heard Isaac or Lydia since he came in. It’s just then that he notices the second cup sitting beside Derek on the counter.

Suddenly he hears heels clacking against the floors and when he looks in the doorway, he sees the last person he was expecting.

“ _Hey again chef_.”

He looks between the Derek and the doorway, blinking obnoxiously just to make sure he’s seeing things right. “Kate?”

“That’s right. Miss me?”    

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. No he doesn’t miss her. He just saw her last night and after last night, he can’t believe she’s even here. “I…ugh…”

“Relax handsome, it was a joke. Are you gonna stay and eat with us? We’re ordering vegan.”

He can’t even tell if this is the same person. The Kate he met last night was a raving bitch. This Kate… _well, she still seems like a bitch,_ just on a lesser scale.

Stiles shakes his head. All he wants is to get the hell out of there. First waking up in Derek’s bed and now this. What the hell is this day? What did he do to deserve this?

“No thanks, I think I’m just going to go home. I’m not feeling all that great,” he says, and he means that. His stomach is doing cartwheels and not in a good way.  

“Do you want me to have my driver take you home?” Derek asks and Stiles immediately recognizes that concerned tone from the night before. It makes him feel even worse.

“Thanks, but I’m fine. I just…I’ll see you later.”

“Actually, Derek and I are going to dinner tonight so your services won’t be needed,” Kate informs.

Stiles’ back is already to them as he walks out, but still, he throws his hands up in frustration, “Fine! Then I’ll just see you tomorrow!”

**XXX**

He can’t decide what the worst part is. The fact that he totally had sex with the guy of his dreams or that the guy of his dreams is probably at dinner having the time of his life with that horrid bitch that he loves so much.

Stiles can’t help but be filled with endless amounts of regret and shame. What the hell was he thinking? He’s not even sure. He was so drunk he hardly remembers any of it.  

He’s been cooped up in his apartment all day trying to make sense of it all, or at least remember what went down. Why would he even allow himself to do something so stupid? He couldn’t totally hate himself. Derek Hale was nothing if not beautiful and crazy successful. Besides, he didn’t seem hung up on it. He hadn’t acted awkward in the kitchen or standoffish or anything that suggested he regretted their night together. Maybe Stiles was just making a big deal of this. If Derek wasn’t acting weird, why should he? They were both adults and it was casual sex. This didn’t have to be a big deal if he didn’t make it one.  

If nothing else, he still had his job. That had to be a good sign right? 

But he vows that from now on, to be more professional. He doesn’t want the lines to get blurred or to feel like this ever again.

**XXX**

Derek isn’t sitting at the counter when he shows up to cook breakfast Sunday morning. Stiles soon discovers why when he and Kate saunter down together just before it’s time to serve. Even though he is hungry, he makes up an excuse as to why he can’t stay and settles for eating McDonalds instead. He doesn’t want to have breakfast with Derek, his drunken hook up from other night, and Kate, the girl Derek is _currently_ having sex with. It’s just…it’s way too much.  

He continues to keep it like this. He’s nice and civil whenever he’s around, although he’s reverted back to putting earbuds in and listening to music on his iPhone most days. He doesn’t want things to seem awkward, but it’s hard to look at Derek knowing what transpired. He stays for significantly less meals, opting to just eat at home or grab fast food instead. Considering his first paycheck is more money than he knows what to do with, it’s totally in his budget. He figures he’ll start looking for new apartments and try to move next few weeks, after he builds up a decent savings. It won’t be anything too fancy, just a little closer to Manhattan. Looking for a new place will be nice distraction in between cooking meals at Derek’s.  

**XXX**

He’s cooking dinner one night, two or three weeks later, when Isaac walks into the kitchen, his arms crossed and a stern expression on his face. Stiles can’t imagine why he took the time to stop in.

“What do you want? I got you the scarf, gift wrapped and everything.”

“I know, thanks. It’s awesome by the way,” he says, caressing that exact scarf in his fingertips. Stiles has to admit, it is a really nice fashion accessory. “But I can in here to ask what’s going on with you. Where have you been the last few weeks? You haven’t eaten with us once.”

“Excuse me if I don’t exactly want to eat with the guy I had a one night stand with and his wicked girlfriend,” Stiles says.

“You think any of us want to be around her? I don’t even have feelings for Derek and I don’t want to be around her, but I can at least suck it up.”  

“I don’t have _feelings_ for Derek,” Stiles clarifies but it’s obvious half a second after the words leave him mouth that Isaac isn’t buying it one bit.

“Right, I’m sorry. I must’ve gotten you confused with the other chef who obviously has feelings for Derek.”

Stiles doesn’t respond, because clearly Isaac doesn’t believe him. Shit, he hardly believes himself. Why would he spend so much time thinking about Derek and trying to avoid being around Derek and Kate if he didn’t care? He cares…he cares a lot and that’s what really sucks about it all.

“Look, I’m not going to tell you what to do—I mean, what would I, _Derek’s long time house keeper and trusted personal friend_ , know; but going out of your way to distance yourself isn’t helping you or Derek.”

“What else would I do?”

Isaac rolls his eyes, “I don’t know. I’ve heard that some people try talking to the other person about it. Maybe you could try that?”

**XXX**

All Stiles can think is that “ _talking about it_ ” is literally the dumbest thing he’s ever heard…but he also doesn’t have any other options. He’s been pretty miserable the last week and avoiding Derek is taking a toll on his personal life. Why is that he’s still thinking about the guy he had a one night stand with?

Because sadly, just like Isaac said, he has feelings.

Somehow he fucked around and caught feels for his boss. _He’s not sure he wants to mention that part though._  

He spends all weekend dwelling on it—what to do, what to say, how to get Derek away from Kate. It isn’t necessary though, because when he shows up Monday morning, Derek is sitting at his usual spot, in the dark and all by himself. It almost feels nostalgic.

“Morning,” Stiles says in an attempt to be civil and normal. It seems like the logical first step.

Derek looks up with a confused expression, “You’re actually talking to me this morning?”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, I talk to you every morning.”

“Not lately. _Lately_ , I’ve had to address you first and that’s only if I’m lucky enough to catch you before you try to avoid me by turning your music on.”

He hadn’t even been aware it was that obvious. God, he hopes he didn’t come off as bitter as he truly was on the inside. “S-sorry. I’ve just been having a bad few weeks.”

“Oh yeah?” Derek says into his cup, “Would it have anything to do with what happened that night after my dinner with Kate went south?”

Stiles stops dead in his tracks, having to concentrate so as to not drop the eggs currently in his hands. Since it never really came up and Derek had been asleep when he left, Stiles had sort of hoped that maybe he didn’t remember. It was stupid and unrealistic, he knew that; but up until this moment he’d held on that naïve solace in the back of his mind. “You…you remember that?”

Derek nods in a totally condescending manner, “Yes I remember that. How could I forget?”

“Is that like a compliment?” His heart is pounding, totally hoping that what Derek said means he was at least a tolerable partner. Finding out he was bad in bed would be the icing on his shit cake.

“I have no complaints… _other than that you stopped talking to me._ ” If anyone sounds bitter now, it’s Derek.

“Kate was here by the time I came back to make lunch and she hasn’t really left. I just assumed that you were making up.”

“We did,” he says honestly. At least he’s not sugarcoating it.

It seems the only person who acting childish in the situation was Stiles. He’d say it was a defense mechanism, but he’s never been in this kind of situation before.

“Congratulations. I’m glad it all worked out for you,” he can’t even pretend to care. He hates Kate and he likes Derek. To actually care would be a conflicting emotion. “I hope you guys are happy.”

“No you don’t,” Derek states somewhat smug.  

“No, but it sounded nice…” There’s an awkward silence between them. They’ve sort of addressed the elephant in the room, but they haven’t actually resolved anything.   

“Do you like me?” Derek asks suddenly and once again Stiles is caught completely off guard.  

“ _What?_ ”

“That’s why you’re upset right? Because you like me and you don’t like Kate.”

Stiles pouts, narrowing his eyes and childishly spitting out, “ _Well nobody likes Kate_.”

“Are you serious? I thought she and Lydia—”

Stiles shakes his head.

“ _Isaac?_ ”

Stiles shakes his head again and Derek frowns. He really had no idea? Both of his other workers seemed pretty honest about their opinions of her with him. The bitch doesn’t even pretend to be nice. He’s surprised there’s anyone in the world that does like her, especially someone like Derek Hale.

“Well that’s not the point. The point is we had sex and that changed things, and not necessarily in a good way. I just want—”

“ _Why did you sleep with me?”_

Stiles is tired of this conversation. It isn’t making him feel any better. He regrets buying Isaac that scarf or taking any of his God awful advice. Next time he sees him, he vows to wrap a cheap scarf around his neck and strangle him.

“What?”

“Why did you sleep with me? I know we were drunk and you were vulnerable but it wasn’t fair. You came onto me knowing that you would never be with someone like me—”

“Someone like you?”

“Yes, someone like me—the fucking _help!_ Is that a thing that you do? Take advantage of you employees? Did you sleep with Lydia and Isaac too?” 

He didn’t mean it. He swears he didn’t and he’s pretty sure that much is obvious by the look of regret on his face. Derek appears to be equally as shocked, staring at Stiles with his eyebrows raised.  

“How about,” he suggests, very seriously, “You stop putting words in my mouth and let me tell you why I slept with you?”  

Stiles doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid his mouth will betray him again by saying something stupid in the heat of the moment. He opts so a silent nod.

“I slept with you, because I like you.”   

He couldn’t have heard that right? Did Derek Hale— _his super rich, super-hot, super taken and one hundred percent not in love with him,_ boss—just say that he liked him? That he was actually interested in him?

He wants to relish in the thought, to cherish the moment, but then he remembers Kate and the part where Derek says they made up.

“What about Kate?”

“I’m not going to lie, I love Kate,” And there it is, _the catch_. It his was anyone other than Derek, he’d expect that confession to be followed by something awful like Derek suggesting a threesome or saying Stiles can be his secret.

“But,” Derek continues, “I realized that she had a point. We’ve grown apart and just because we were in love, doesn’t necessarily mean we were supposed to be together in the long run too.” 

Stiles is pretty sure anyone who spent five seconds with Kate and Derek could’ve seen that coming. What too Derek so long to figure that out.

“So you broke up?” he tries to sound casual and hide his enthusiasm at the thought.

“Yeah, I told her that she just wasn’t what I wanted anymore. I told her I slept with you.”

Stiles’ heart literally drops into his stomach. Derek actually admitted that? Was he crazy? Did he have a death wish on top of everything? He’d seen Kate. Yes, she was pretty but she also looked like she could turn stone cold murderer at the drop of a hat.

“What did she say?”

Derek’s face twists into a very an uneasy expression. It isn’t very reassuring. “She ugh…she called me some names and just a heads up, if you ever see her on the street, I suggest hiding your face or turning the other way.”

That’ great. He’ll make sure to keep an eye out for Kate the next time he walks to catch the train. “So not well?”

“Not at all…but one good thing came out of it.”

Stiles has yet to see the bright side in any of this. “What’s that?”

“It freed me up to try with someone I do like…and I would really like to give us a try Stiles. You have no idea how much I enjoy talking to you and just being around you. I haven’t felt this way about someone other than Kate in a long time,” he says before taking a deep breath and admitting, “I haven’t felt this way about Kate in a long time.”  

“Yeah, well who says I want to date you?” he asks, even though he knows that’s all he’s been secretly hoping for since he first laid eyes on one Derek Hale. “Shouldn’t discuss this later when you’ve gotten off work and we have some free time actually to talk this out?”

He opens his mouth to counter, but before Derek can answer, Lydia’s walking into the kitchen with nothing but surprise and irritation on her face. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you dressed? You know you can’t get dressed after you eat, you’ll be late! _Jesus_. Do you even know what time it is? Do you even _care?_ ” 

Derek looks right at Stiles, a charming grin on his face as he says, “Didn’t I tell you? I’m taking off today. Stiles and I have plans.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Story and Chp Title - "Carl Barker" by Dance Gavin Dance_

**Author's Note:**

> _Story and chapter title from - "Carl Barker" by Dance Gavin Dance_


End file.
